Memories of my Life age 6

My dad would pull the sofa away from the wall and drape an old bed sheet across the top making a tent. My brother and I crawled in the space with my dad and spent the following hour or two in rapt attention listening to my dad recite poetry. His voice was mesmerizing and carried the perfect measure and unction to perfect poetry. How wonderful literature was when it came from my dads memory.
Whether we went down roads not taken, or sat by Walden's Pond, sometimes even being scared by the Raven, we never moved. The love remarks from a red red rose to Hiawatha we learned of a love of reading and took many trips to far away places.
Sometimes my eyes would droop and he would carry me to bed and hold me as he sang me to sleep with Mother the Queen of my Heart(not your typical bedtime lullaby) Sometimes breaking into a resounding yodel. Awe life was good at 6.